


Good Days

by kams_log



Series: Destiel Prompts & One Shots [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Violence, Physical Therapist Castiel, References to Past Injury, Soldier Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kams_log/pseuds/kams_log
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not too long ago, Dean came back from overseas with a busted shoulder and limited range of abilities. He learned to make do with his left arm, but there are good days and bad days. </p><p>So of course, he has a bad day for his appointment with his ridiculously hot physical therapist, Castiel Novak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Days

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Dean had good days and bad days.

On good days, his fingers weren’t too stiff and he didn’t have any trouble tossing the remote to his brother, or passing a coffee mug in the mornings. On good days, Dean didn’t have to worry about trip ups or trembling limbs. On those days, it was easy to forget he had any problems at all. The only reminder was a subtle throbbing in the back of his mind, and on good days, that was easily forgotten as well. 

Bad days were not as fortunate. Bad days included his entire arm shaking with even the tiniest effort. Brushing teeth was a nightmare left handed, and the mental check of reaching for a door with his left instead of his right was somehow worse than the painful ache that never seemed to go away no matter how many meds he took. His fingers were useless on bad days. Dean always struggled to remember that normal activities weren’t impossible. They were just significantly harder.

Sam said it was a process. He had to deal with the injury day by day. No wound, physical or emotional, could ever heal in just a day. 

Dean wanted to laugh in his face. 

What did he know about physical injuries? Sam hadn’t been a soldier. He hadn’t seen bombs rip apart friends and allies, even enemies. He didn’t have shrapnel rip through his shoulder, messing up all the nerve endings and chipping bone away until Dean was lucky his arm still had some of its use left. 

He’d been assigned a physical therapist to help with the transition. It was supposed to be a routine thing, figure out the difficulties, make healing and working plans. 

Dean’s first physical therapist had been okay, but merciless. They didn’t offer any room for compassion or care, and Dean nearly broke under the pressure they put his arm and shoulder through. The second therapist had been much kinder, but lacked the firmness to keep Dean trying. 

His third physical therapist had been the keeper. Castiel Novak had been an angel sent from whatever angels still cared about him. He was kind, thoughtful, compassionate. But he didn’t take Dean’s crap for a minute, and always knew when to push, and when to back off. 

Dean always respected that about the man. He also loved the ‘hands-on’ approach Cas took with his patients (or Dean specifically) when they worked through some of the harder motions and tests. At first, Dean had told himself it was just a part of Castiel’s job, making sure Dean did the motions correctly and didn’t hurt himself. But after watching Cas work with others, Dean quickly learned Dean was just a special case.

He couldn’t find it in him to be mad though. Any excuse to get his hot therapist’s hands on him had to be a good one.

But the morning Dean woke up for his next appointment, he was hoping for a good day. He wanted to go in and show off how good he’d been getting. He’d had two semi-good days in a row. He only dropped his silverware twice, and he was getting better at motor controls. He was even driving his baby with two hands confidently, again. 

Was it so much to ask to have a good day with Cas? Apparently not.

Dean woke up to his appointment on a bad day. 

His arm burned angrily at him throughout the morning. He went to make coffee, didn’t even think twice, as usual, when he poured in the water and reached with his right hand for the grounds. Almost immediately after picking it up his shoulder spiked in pain, his arm locked, and the coffee grounds spilled out across the counter top. 

Dean cursed and took his time cleaning up. By the time he was finished, Sam was stumbling down the stairs and entering the kitchen with a bemused expression on his face. 

“That’s a lot of coffee,” he muttered, trudging his way across the linoleum. He stopped at the coffee maker and stared at it. His sleepy eyes blinked once, twice, and finally he turned to stare at Dean accusingly.

“Coffee?” He whined. Dean rolled his eyes, forced himself to ignore the pounding sensation in his arm. He gritted his teeth and shoved the grounds in his direction. 

“You make it,” he muttered. Sam didn’t answer. He took the grounds and poured it in, set the maker to on and tapped his fingers against the counter. 

He yawned, then asked, “Bad day?” 

Dean nodded.

“Bad day,” he repeated. 

Sam was silent as Dean collapsed into the kitchen chair. The sound of the coffee maker was the only thing to fill the empty air between them, and it was a few minutes before Sam was finally pouring a mug and yawned, “Cas should be able to help with that.”

“Cas was hoping for a good report this morning,” Dean replied. 

Sam shrugged. “Everybody has bad days. He’ll understand. It doesn’t change the two good days before this one.” 

Dean drummed his good fingers on the table and winced. “How messed up is that. I can only have two good days in a row before it all blows up again. I haven’t even made a full week of good progress yet.”

“It hasn’t been that long, Dean,” Sam replied tiredly. “You need to give it more time.”

“More time my ass,” Dean grumbled. But if Sam heard him, he said nothing about it.

A few hours later had Dean sitting in a physical therapy room, stretching his arm with Cas firmly at his side. Cas’s hands were warm against his aching muscles, but Dean was already burning up from the constant cramping and locking from his shoulder and down. 

He felt sweat bead on his brow as Cas muttered encouragements, telling him to hold his arm out horizontally just a few seconds longer.

Dean scoffed at that. A few seconds? More like a few minutes, or hours for how much this damn exercise hurt. 

“You’re doing so well, Dean,” Cas praised, making Dean blush angrily. “You’re holding out incredibly. Just another few seconds… that’s it…” 

Dean wanted to swear. He wanted to flip a table and scream his head off and march out the front doors and never look back. But instead he held his arm out horizontally, and quietly cursed whatever God decided it’d be fun to put him through a bad day for his appointment. 

“Okay, perfect,” Cas finally said, sounding pleased and awed. Dean gasped when his arm collapsed into his lap. He cradled it against his chest, hating that the throbbing was actually lessening after the torture he just put it through. But Cas was beaming at him, and it almost made Dean feel better about the entire thing.

Almost. 

“Now, give that a minute breather, and we’re going to do it again with your arm vertical.” 

This time, Dean did swear. Loudly. 

Cas chuckled sadly and sat down in front of Dean. He reached out and rubbed the pads of his fingers into Dean’s aching arm, and Dean found himself steadily relaxing. 

“Hey, it’ll be just fine. We only have a few more exercises today, I promise. You’re doing incredibly well.”

“You keep saying that,” Dean ground out. “Not sure what the hell it means.”

Cas smiled gently. His blue eyes were soft when he replied, “It means you’re incredibly strong for someone who should’ve lost their arm in another country.” 

Dean could only stare. It was true. He shouldn’t even have his arm. But Cas was staring at him fondly, and Dean managed to find the strength to try the next exercise after all. 

He stretched his arm up vertically and Cas beamed. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured, and Dean half wondered if he was talking about the perfect pose, or Dean himself. He felt a blush touch his cheeks at the thought, but contained himself as Cas looked down at his watch and counted off how many seconds Dean needed to hold his position. 

At about second five Dean started to feel the tremors work their way up, and he gasped, forcing his arm to lock into position so it wouldn’t fall on his head, or smack Cas on the way down. 

Cas continued muttering encouragements. Dean wanted to shut them up. Immediately. Even if he had to kiss the words right out of his face. 

Second ten Dean felt sweat drip down his neck. Second fifteen he considered dying. Second twenty, Cas told him ‘a few more seconds.’ Dean was ready to fall over and bury himself in a hole. Somewhere dark, quiet, cold. Or maybe somewhere with Cas. 

He wasn’t sure which was better. 

Second twenty-five. His arm gave out suddenly and he cried out, helpless as his arm jerked and slammed down against his chest. Cas was there in an instant, reaching out gently and rubbing the back of his shoulder soothingly. 

His entire right shoulder stung. His nerves were on fire, and it was all he could do not to pull away from Cas’s gently touches and let him do his work. But soon enough, a few seconds passed, and the fire leaching through his veins began to cool down. 

The heat was still there, but it no longer felt like a thousand tiny daggers piercing his skin. 

Cas was hushing him, and Dean realized he was choking on air. Cas was embracing him, holding him gently and continuing to rub gently at his throbbing shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m sorry, I should have made you stop at twenty. You did incredible. How do you feel?” 

Dean startled a gasp and felt his back heave, air finally beginning to re-enter his lungs at realistic speed. 

“Like a damn car wreck,” he grunted. He couldn’t see it, but he could swear Cas was smiling. He felt a hand brush the back of his neck, and Dean leaned into the touch happily, hummed when fingers darted briefly across the edge of his hairline. 

“At least you don’t look it,” Cas replied kindly. Dean blushed that time, but he didn’t care when Cas pulled back with a gorgeous smile across his face. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better,” Dean dared, almost nervous, but too excited to care, “I’d think you were flirting with me.” 

He didn’t expect Cas to blush. But when he did, Dean felt hope start to rise. 

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I could find another physical therapist for you?” He sounded anxious, and Dean couldn’t have that.

He reached out with his left hand, squeezed it around Cas’s reassuringly. “I’d only want another therapist if there were rules against patients and their doctor’s dating.” 

Cas stared at him incredulously. Dean grinned back. 

Finally, Cas choked out, “I-I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t apply to those rules.” 

Dean beamed. “Yeah. Absolutely it is.”

His shoulder still ached. It was still hard to pick things up and open doors for his brother, and now for his boyfriend. But after that morning in the physical therapy center, Dean had a lot more good days than he ever could have imagined.

**Author's Note:**

> me: lovefromdean.tumblr.com


End file.
